


Love and Low Ceilings

by InsightfulInsomniac



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Valley Forge, Washington is a concerned dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21896818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsightfulInsomniac/pseuds/InsightfulInsomniac
Summary: How John Laurens moves from sleeping under the too-low ceilings of the garret to sharing a bed with none other than Alexander Hamilton.My take on the backstory behind the plaque in Washington’s Headquarters at Valley Forge that says that Laurens recorded hitting his head on the low ceilings of the garret when he woke up.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 9
Kudos: 178





	Love and Low Ceilings

**Author's Note:**

> Y’all, this story simply needed to be told, because I refuse to believe that Laurens and Hamilton did not share a bed while at Valley Forge.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Shh, be quiet! You’ll wake Laurens.”

“I know — damn, forgot the letter I’m supposed to send. I’ll be down soon.”

“Good god, Meade.”

John rolls over on his cot, desperately attempting to force himself to go back to sleep. If no one’s waking him purposefully, that means he has the luxury of sleeping a few extra moments before diving back into the belly of the beast.

Much to his chagrin, after Meade thunders down the stairs to join Harrison for what would likely be a scant breakfast over some wartime correspondence, he loses all hope of the chance to sleep in a little more. Unfortunately, thanks to the too-cramped house with not nearly enough space to hold its occupants, he’s now fully awake. _That’s what he gets for taking the bed near the entrance to the garret_ , he supposes.

Sighing deeply, John drowsily rolls back over before forcing himself to get up.  _Screw your courage to the sticking place_ ,  he thinks, willing his eyes to stay open as he pushes himself up before he can succumb to the pillows again.

_Crack!_

John yelps in pain as his head crashes into the impossibly low ceiling, his hand flying to where a bump on the top of his forehead is likely already forming. The spot is already tender, and he hisses at the touch.

“Christ,” he curses, then suddenly realizes that he’s not alone in the makeshift bedroom. Thankfully, his morning blunder did not wake any of the remaining staff members sleeping around him — McHenry is the only one who stirs, but merely pauses his snores before shifting slightly returning to deep slumber just a moment later.

Laurens sighs, rubbing his head gently as he slips out of bed.  _What a way to start the day._

******

After dressing and gathering his supplies for the day’s work, John ducks out of the attic and heads for the aides’ office, finding General Washington already briefing Meade, Harrison, and Hamilton.

Washington glances to him immediately, nodding warmly. “Good morning, Laurens. I was just explaining...” the general trails off as his eyes flick upwards. “Laurens, are you okay? That’s quite the bump.”

“Oh, uh,” John stutters for a moment, having forgotten this morning’s incident in his haste to get downstairs. “Yes, Sir. I’m in perfectly good health.”

“How did you get such an injury?” He asks, genuine concern etched across his features. “I don’t remember you having it yesterday.”

“I may have sat up a little too quickly in bed this morning, Sir,” John recounts somewhat sheepishly, catching Hamilton’s poor attempt at stifling a laugh. “The ceilings are quite low in the garret.”

Washington sighs. “Well, if the swelling doesn’t go down shortly, we’ll have a nurse tend to it. Are you fit to work?”

Laurens nods quickly. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good. I was just tasking Hamilton with translating a number of texts for General von Steuben; you could assist him.”

“Of course, Sir.”

John takes that as his cue to begin working, finding his usual place next to Hamilton and grabbing a small stack of papers from next to him. Seconds later, he feels a soft kick from under the table, and Laurens can’t help but notice the amused smirk playing on Hamilton’s lips.

John merely rolls his eyes, hoping Hamilton’s watching him in order to get the general message. The quiet chuckle he receives is answer enough.

“Laurens? Have you injured yourself on the ceiling of the garret before?” General Washington addresses him again, obviously dithering about the subject.

“No, Sir, but I’ve been close. I honestly tend to forget about it when I wake.”

“Would you prefer a room downstairs?”

John frowns. “Sir, all of the rooms downstairs are taken. We are plenty full in the garret, too.”

“Sir, I’d be willing to share my bed,” Alexander pipes up. “It would be advantageous to our work as well, considering our recent joint assignments.”

Washington nods. “If you would be willing, Laurens, I have no issue with you moving to Hamilton’s room. I’m sure there would be someone who would love to take your spot in the garret.”

John refuses to look at Alexander, feeling his eyes burning into the side of his head. “If you don’t think it would be too crowded in that room, Sir, then I would be glad to move there. I know Tilghman and Fitzgerald also share a bed in that room.”

Washington nods. “You are correct, but I doubt four in one smaller room will be any worse than sharing the garret. It’s your decision, Laurens.”

“I’ll share with Hamilton. Thank you, Sir.”

“Now, I can’t have my aides putting themselves out of duty by injuring their heads, can I?” He teases, smiling slightly. “We have enough to worry about.”

“Yes, Sir, we do.”

As General Washington turns his attention back to Meade, John feels another kick under the table. Without looking up from his work, he responds in kind.

******

Long after the other aides retired to bed, Alexander finally puts down his quill and relaxes back into the chair. “Ready for bed?”

In the privacy of being alone in the office, John allows himself to blush slightly at the insinuation — though he  _always_ knows when Hamilton is making an innuendo, and this is not one of those times.

“Yes. I’m exhausted.”

With just a hum of acknowledgement, Alexander leads him up the narrow staircase to their now-shared room, Tilghman and Fitzgerald already fast asleep in the bed on the left side of the room.

The two of them strip down to their bedclothes silently, but as soon as they find their familiarly-forbidden places in bed together, Alex sighs contentedly, burying his face in John’s chest as he tangle their legs together.

“They won’t wake,” he murmurs. “And I’ll move in my sleep before morning, I promise.”

“Okay,” is all John can muster, for it feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. The idea of getting to do this every night, indefinitely, is beyond thrilling in a terrifying way.

Just when he’s about to drift off, John hears a groggy, sleep-thick whisper from the man next to him.

“Is this worth hitting your head this morning?”

John allows himself to smile softly. “Absolutely.”

Hamilton says nothing more, but just as John’s about to fall asleep, he swears he feels the gentle brush of cool lips against the bruised protrusion on his forehead.

Even if he only dreamed them, it is nice to imagine nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> Sweet boys. I digress.


End file.
